These beauties are handmade with fine cloth, acrylic paints, ribbon, and kraft recycled paper. We print the tags using a good old fashioned typewriter.
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I ran my fist into the wall and sat crying from the hurt. A stinging sweetness welled its way up to my eyes. I marched myself right down the hall, then, out the door, knelt in the dirt. I prayed, “Why do friends fail no matter how one tries?” Consolation—is it so much to ask for? I sat reading when the call, harsh, familiar, crass and curt, caught my ear. “Why do you memorize such lies?” said gruff Henry, lean and tall. I do believe he tried to flirt. He flung my book, he flung my heart into the tide. But the line that caused my fall and left me reeling, on alert, came from Jennifer. She’d surely empathize. [Jennifer:] “Why would anyone recall the poems of saints, sackcloth for shirt, some zealots blubbering about the poor, their helpless cries?” Consolation—is it so much to ask for? Is it too much to ask for?